So Darkness I Became
by Raphiael
Summary: Killing people, even evil people, is different. Pelleas, Naesala, and losing inhibitions, for better or for worse. Stands alone, but may be continued.


**Notes: **This was a gift fic for Taywen on LJ for FE Exchange. I intended for it to be longer, but it's been nearly a year. I might continue this; I might not. Subscribe if you care, I suppose. Otherwise, all feedback is loved.

**So Darkness I Became**

_You can't possibly believe that one so flawed as you has a prayer against me. _

It was all Pelleas could hear in his mind, that thick, smug voice taunting him, as he brought his arms up to his face in a vain attempt to shield himself from the surge of magic building around him. He'd never thought of it when he'd seen Micaiah wield it, but magic like that, _holy_ magic, felt like nothing he'd ever describe as divine, not even for a goddess who'd turn her own "children" into stone. It was white-hot agony, not on his skin, but deeper, tearing through his fragile body without so much as scratching him, scraping at something at his core that he couldn't quite name.

_I don't believe it. _He was nothing, after all – not really a king, not even a pawn any longer. Just a simple orphan playing at being something more. Something worthwhile. He barely saw Lekain's face, twisted into that cocky smirk, through the spots in his vision and the black creeping into the edges. Of all the last sights to see.

_If I died here, would it really be so bad?_

He was sure that was what was about to happen. He'd fall still and quiet, like the failure he'd always been. It was fitting. He was hardly a leader, nothing like the others, barely even a loss to be counted. There were far worse things to lose, after all –

A high, rasping cry broke into his thoughts, and the blinding light was blocked out by a figure he couldn't make out. Before he could even try, he felt himself being swept up by the shoulders of his cloak, his feet losing contact with the tile beneath him. He struggled only for a moment before craning his neck and seeing huge black wings spread above him. Realizing, despite his panic, what was happening, he slowly relaxed, loosening all but his grip on his tome. Given that he hadn't been released to fall to an even messier death, the chances of it being dangerous were slim enough to discount.

_Not dead today, _he thought, but as he could finally see clearly below him again, he made out the Begnion soldiers, the stairway up even further into the tower, and remembered the fight was far from over. _Well, not yet._

At last, his feet reached solid ground again – a small, slick ledge with steep stairs to the side, and just enough room for his rescuer to come to a landing and stretch out its massive black wings.

Pelleas tried to speak, though he was unsure if he wanted to thank the subhuma- no, _laguz_, who'd saved him, or object to the act, or simply apologize for having needed the help in the first place. But as he did, the great bird arched its back, stretching open its beak and letting loose a shrill cry. As the tips of the beak began to shift, spreading into pale skin, Pelleas looked away by instinct – he knew of course what it they _did,_but he'd never seen it himself and didn't care to make this the first time. It was carnal, somehow, like watching a woman change her clothes.

"Lucky you didn't get yourself killed, there, _Your Highness_."

The voice was definitely human, if a bit ragged and tired, and Pelleas looked up to see the source of it. The wings were still present, and just as huge as they had been before, but the rest was changed into a form he more readily recognized. The man before him was tall, slim, dressed in clothing nearly as dark as his plumage.

Pelleas almost bowed, before he remembered that it wasn't how kings were meant to greet each other. Of course, he couldn't recall exactly how they were meant to, so he settled for lifting his chin in a way he thought might be defiant. "I-I could have held m-my own, Raven King," he countered, though the stammer in his words betrayed him. It echoed off the high stone walls of the tower, amplifying every ounce of fear and uncertainty.

"Of _course _you could have." Despite the rising sounds of chaos ringing throughout the room, the steady thrum of spells rippling through the air, Naesala shrugged as if the outcome meant nothing to him at all. He met Pelleas' hard stare with an even, cold look that still didn't seem wholly serious. "There's no harm in it, really. I understand you human royals aren't, well, known for your prowess in battle – maybe it's best you get back to your lady mother? None of the rest of us have time to watch your back while you sightsee, King Daein."

Pelleas tried not to wince at the use of the title, though the tone of the words made him wonder if he wasn't the only one who knew of their falsehood. He forced every bit of steel he could manage into his words, remembering how Sothe tended to speak when it came to Micaiah's safety - cool, decisive, without even a glimmer of uncertainty.

"Th-this is not a battle I can simply hide from." So close. He'd almost managed that strength, and he forced himself to focus on the bits that had come out right. "I will not hide from it." He looked back across the room, and though his eyes still ached from the burst of light that had assailed him moments earlier, he swore he could still see Lekain grinning in his direction. He slid one hand away from the worn spine of his tome to rub at the mark on his other wrist, as if doing so might somehow wipe the smile off the vice-minister's greasy lips.

Naesala's gaze followed Pelleas' fingers across the pale flesh, then up and down his body, as if sizing him up. _Like a meal,_ Pelleas thought with a gulp, unable to forget how sharp that beak had looked.

"Personal, then, is it?" the raven asked, and too quickly, Pelleas nodded. "Funny, I didn't think you'd have it in you to hold a grudge like that. In any case, do what you like, but I'd rather you not die. No idea what your lady mother might do, but it would probably involve having my feathers made into a headdress."

"I – " Pelleas felt the stammer building in his throat and quickly swallowed his words, taking a moment to run his fingers across the ancient text embossed on the spine of his tome. No, he wouldn't falter. He might not have been a king in truth, but he would not be a coward. "I have no intention of dying here."

"That's a relief, at least. Glad to hear you won't be _deliberately_ getting yourself run through." Naesala finally turned away, letting Pelleas realize he'd stayed rigid and still ever since the raven had looked his way, and set his sights back in the direction they'd come from. Pelleas wondered if his eyes could see further than a human's might, and almost asked if Lekain was really smiling as wide he'd imagined. "Now. . . I won't say I know your reasons, but I can't keep you from going back there, now, can I?"

Pelleas replied, for once, with no hesitation. "No."

"But you've never killed one of your own, have you?" Naesala's lips turned up, as if in jest, and for the first time, Pelleas noticed the blood streaked on his fingers – fingers that had been talons only moments before. He looked down to the hordes of reanimated soldiers below and gulped. He'd destroyed plenty of them as he'd fought up to that point like everyone else, and slaughtered even more of the mindless laguz sent out by Izuka. But the former were dead to begin with, and the latter with their wild, beastly eyes never really counted.

". . .No. I haven't."

He _had _tried. He'd channeled the rage and terror within him, summoned it into a ball of darkness in his palm and let it fly at Izuka's face, imagined it swallowing him and crushing every bone in his spineless body. But it was Elincia who landed the killing blow, who'd flinched at the blood staining her royal blade but carried on with grace – the way a sovereign ought to act, he thought. All Pelleas had been able to manage was to not vomit – barely – at the sight of the ruined corpse.

"It's not the same as just running through what you have before, you know." Of course it wouldn't be. Pelleas had expected as much, and nothing in him truly relished the idea of it. But still, he couldn't walk away. Not this time. He shook his head firmly, turning back to the enemies below him. The revived soldiers seemed to have finally caught on to his presence and Naesala's, and had their weapons at the ready as they approached the steep marble steps.

It was clear that words would not be enough. Pelleas was ready. He flipped open his tome and ran his fingers across the arcane words, letting the power imbued in them surge up into his fingertips as he chanted the spell. He directed it with a precision he hadn't known he could possess at the nearest of the enemies, and forced himself not to cringe as the body toppled soundlessly into the abyss.

"You could cut through an army of _those,_ and they wouldn't likely feel a thing," said Naesala from behind him, making no effort, by the sound of it, to shift forms and pitch in. "Are you certain you're willing?"

Something within Pelleas still ached from Lekain's light magic, and he almost wanted to just slide to the ground and close his eyes for a moment. He almost said as much. Instead, he answered the question not with words or with resignation, only with another bolt of darkness shot at the heart of another approaching foe. He could feel the unnatural life within it writhe in his magic's grip, and finally die as he shouted the last word of the spell, despite the pounding in his head and the trembling at his knees.

As the soldier fell, Pelleas swiped away a dark curl that had fallen into his face and turned back to his companion, hoping the look on his face was as challenging as he meant it to be. "There's no need to doubt me anymore," he said at last between gasps, and slowly a smile crept onto Naesala's face in return.


End file.
